


"Please help me."

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [28]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Don't Post To Another Site, Honey I shrunk Mycroft, M/M, Magical Realism, Mystrade Monday Prompts, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: It started out as a perfectly normal day, but it got very strange very quickly. Luckily, Mycroft can keep a calm in a crisis, and Greg is resourceful.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862299
Comments: 20
Kudos: 84





	"Please help me."

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by art by myteapotthings on Tumblr
> 
> https://myteapotthings.tumblr.com/post/642203463751778304/i-dont-know-what-happened-i-guess-it-is-vaguely

“My? Hey, do you know—“ Greg stopped in the doorway, and stared at the empty room.

He could have sworn Mycroft was in here just a few minutes ago. He brought him tea, and the cup was still sitting on the desk. Greg walked over to Mycroft’s desk, tempted to look underneath it, though that was ridiculous. Mycroft was not in the room. Greg absently picked up the empty cup and saucer, and headed out of the office. He paused in the hall looking back into the room. He could’ve sworn he heard something.

In the kitchen Greg started to set the tea cup and saucer in the sink when he felt a sharp pain in his thumb. “Ow!” He dropped the saucer he was holding, shaking his hand in the process. The cup and saucer clattered into the sink, miraculously not breaking. He raised his thumb to his mouth and stopped. There, clutching Greg’s thumb desperately to keep from falling, hung Mycroft.

“Mycroft?” Greg couldn’t believe his eyes and blinked several times.

“Gregory! Please help me.” Mycroft squeaked. His hands were starting to slip.

Greg quickly cupped his other hand under Mycroft and lowered him into his palm. “What happened to you?”

Shaking Mycroft sat in Greg’s hand, and started to speak. “I don’t know. I was drinking tea and started to feel rather strange. I could see everything around me getting bigger.”

“The tea,” Greg breathed. “Sherlock sent over the tea last week. He said it was a favorite of yours.”

Mycroft ran a hand through his hair. His front curl fell across his forehead. “Why would you give me anything to eat or drink from Sherlock, especially if he said it was my favorite?”

“He was so nonchalant about it,” Greg remembered. “He mentioned he’d been to that fancy tea shop for John and saw they had your favorite blend.”

Mycroft shook his head and continued. “I climbed onto the desk, before I got lost in the carpet. When you came in I called out to you, but I assume you couldn’t hear me. I managed to climb into the saucer when you picked up the tea cup. I hoped being closer you might hear me.”

Greg nodded. “I thought I heard my name, but it sounded so soft and far away.”

“When I saw you heading for the sink, I knew I had to get your attention or I’d be washed down into the disposal.”

Greg paled. “Oh Christ.” He found one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, still holding Mycroft close to his face so as to hear him.

“I’m sorry I bit you, but there was no time,” Mycroft apologized.

“No, no.” Greg waved the apology away. He stared at his husband. Mycroft was no bigger than the thumb he’d just bitten. “You’re so tiny… and naked,” Greg wondered. He couldn’t quite see it, but he was pretty sure Mycroft rolled his eyes at Greg’s statement of the obvious.

“Of course my clothes didn’t shrink. They didn’t drink the tea.” Mycroft responded snippily. Greg saw him shiver slightly.

“I bet they’re under the desk. I knew I should have looked under the desk,” Greg muttered to himself.

Mycroft made a noise.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t get that.”

“I sneezed,” Mycroft replied with the tiniest sniff. “Do you think you could find something to cover me. I’m feeling rather chilled.”

“Aw, bless. Sure, I’ll…” Greg had started to rise from his chair still holding Mycroft, but stopped. “Might be safer if I leave you here.” He rested his hand with Mycroft on the kitchen table. Mycroft climbed off and stood rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “Back in a tick.”

Greg returned quickly with one of Mycroft’s silk handkerchiefs. He folded it and gently dropped it over Mycroft’s shoulders. “Should be warm, not too heavy, and you can wipe your nose if you need to.”

“So practical-minded, you are,” Mycroft replied dryly as he pulled the cloth around him snugly.

Greg sat down at the table, leaned forward with his arms on the table, and rested his chin on his forearms. “So what do we do now? You really think it was the tea?”

“Yes, and I think we have to go to 221B. Sherlock has got to fix this.”

Greg eyed Mycroft. “Okay, but I don’t think you want to go wrapped only in a hankie, even if it’s silk.”

“I don’t see that I have much choice,” Mycroft huffed.

“Hmm… I think I can come up with something,” Greg mused.

* * *

“What do you think?” Greg sat back and looked critically at Mycroft, who tugged at the knit sleeves. “I thought the cashmere would be better as it wouldn’t chafe your bits.”

Mycroft paused momentarily in checking the fit of his “clothing” and wriggled his hips. “It’s surprisingly comfortable and warm. How did you know how to make this?” He wondered looking down at his legs now clad in a soft, brown cashmere knit.

“Watched my girls do it often enough. They loved making clothes for their dolls with old socks and T-shirts,” Greg replied. He watched Mycroft slip on the booties he’d made. “You ready?”

Mycroft wobbled a little as he tried to stand. “I don’t think I can walk in these.”

“Well you won’t be walking.” Greg laid his hand palm up on the kitchen table for Mycroft climb on. “You’ll be riding in style in my coat pocket.”

“Your coat pocket? I think not.” Mycroft was adamant. “You put dirty change and used tissues in your pocket. It’s disgusting.”

“How else am I going to transport you? I can’t hold you while I drive. I’m not having you on the dash.” Greg was equally adamant.

Mycroft thought a moment. “I’ll sit on your shoulder,” he declared.“I can hold on to your collar and I’ll be close to your ear so you can hear me.”

“Everyone will see you, My,” Greg countered.

“Please. You overestimate how observant the general population is.” Mycroft dismissed Greg’s concern.

Mycroft climbed onto Greg’s palm and settled back for the ride to Greg’s shoulder. There he crawled onto Greg’s shoulder. He took a few moments to get situated and get a good grip on Greg’s coat.

“Ready?” Greg asked, afraid to move until he got an okay.

“Yes. Can you hear me?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes, I can.” Greg smiled, and Mycroft could see the muscles flex in Greg’s cheek. “You sound as sexy as ever.”

Mycroft reached up and tweaked Greg’s earlobe. “Beast.”

_To Be Continued…_

**Author's Note:**

> The next work in the series is a continuation of this story. Enjoy!


End file.
